Deadbeat Dad, Faithless Cad
by Diglossia
Summary: It's amazing how much Dean is like their father. Sam tries to overlook it but sometimes the resemblance, is there, staring him in the face. When Dean leaves to talk to Lisa, Sam sees the resemblance- and feels the anger- again.


This takes place at the end of 99 Problems when Dean goes to see Lisa.

* * *

Sam stroked Castiel's feathers, the angel passed out in a miserable, drunken heap on the motel bed. Long teasing and pestering the night before had gotten the angel to reveal his wings which were frankly enormous and took up most of the room. He'd nearly burst the windows out of the Impala when he'd first revealed them and scared the shit out of Dean. Now he was passed out face down on the bed, wings folded to his back but still monstrously huge. It hurt to know Cas was in so much pain that he'd stoop to drinking himself into a stupor. That he'd drink at all was disheartening. Being cast out of heaven had done a number on the miserable angel. It was a feeling Sam could certainly get behind.

Here Dean had made it such a big deal that all his happiest memories were when he could get a minute away from him and Dad, and Dean was the one who up and left him. How many times had Sam apologized and tried to explain that the happiness stemmed from being away and alone but not necessarily meaning away _from_ or alone _without _he couldn't remember. It didn't matter anyway.

Sam would be a fool not to see Castiel's pain and longing for Dean. It didn't matter to him whether the feelings were sexual or not: Dean was Castiel's connection to Earth, he kept him connected to something when everything was falling away. Just like it was for Sam.

Except Dean wasn't motherfucking there for either of them.

ØØØ

Sam woke to the sound of a key in the lock of the front door. He glanced at the digital clock on the motel nightstand, his sleep-blurred eyes making the numbers difficult to decipher. Eventually, he realized it was sometime after four a.m.

"Where've you been?" he snapped, voice ragged from sleep and anger. Dean just shook his head, wouldn't even meet his eyes.

"Doesn't matter, Sammy," he said. "Somethin' I had to do."

Dean turned his back on Sam, throwing his duffel bag down on the bed Sam wasn't occupying. He busied himself with emptying his pockets and turning on a lamp, generally ignoring Sam and his piercing gaze.

Sam grit his teeth and waited for Dean to say something, give some explanation for driving off without a word to where he was going or when he'd be back. Sam had thought he'd lost Dean forever, that the next time he saw his older brother he'd be a meatsuit for an archangel. This, though, was definitely Dean and that fact pissed him off to no end.

"Where'd you go?" he asked, sitting up on the bed.

Dean scowled.

"I told you. There was something I needed to do. Didn't involve you so I didn't say anything."

"Really," Sam said, sarcasm lacing his voice. "You didn't think I'd be _worried_ or even _concerned_ that you just up and left?"

"Nope," Dean said with forced cheer. He kept his gaze carefully away from Sam's, which made Sam feel even worse. Dean felt _guilty_ about what he gone to do. Great. That really settled Sam's nerves.

"Where, Dean?" he asked, voice low and gravely. Dangerous, if Dean cared to notice.

"Lisa, alright?" Dean still wouldn't meet his eyes. Anger flashed through Sam.

"Lisa? _Lisa_? That's what you left to go do, talk to _Lisa_?"

"Yeah. She matters, Sam."

Lisa. Pretty, pretty Lisa with a kid and a normal life. Lisa, who was, at the very least, female and easy, and not so damn argumentative. Was it really that hard for him to swallow?

It was.

"Yeah, okay, great. I'm so glad you left without telling me anything to go talk to some woman you barely know!"

"I can't be with you, Sammy, so excuse _me_ if I want to spend a little bit of time with someone who I can be!"

Sam studied his brother's face, the soft planes and the beautiful lips, and shook his head, fingering through soft, dark feathers. His hands, so used to the gesture after nearly an hour, met empty air. Cas was gone, the bed next to him empty. Sam didn't even know if he had left before Dean had returned or after. It didn't really matter. He'd only be confused at their anger and try to stop them fighting.

Sam missed those soft feathers.

"You know, all this time you've made fun of me for wanting a family and a white picket fence and here you wanted it all along." His tone was bitter, hurt from the knowledge that Dean had gone to see Lisa now and that Dean had gone to such lengths to hide it from him.

"Would you just shut up?" Dean demanded.

Sam didn't want to shut up. In fact, he wanted to taunt Dean, wanted to bait him until he stopped feeling this pain clawing at his insides, reminding him of the reason he had wanted to leave all those times. He'd wanted a hope of being normal and had carved out bits and pieces of freedom to keep his sanity as a freaking _kid_ and yet here he was still feeling these same desires, these same jealousies.

Once upon a time, he'd been jealous of Dean and Dad. He'd wanted that special connection that they seemed to have, wanted Dad to pay attention to him and tell him he was a good son. They'd been in competition then, simple, understandable competition for their father's affection.

After that, it had been a fight for any attention, any recognition at the dozens of schools they went to, fighting to survive, to graduate, to be recognized as something worthwhile. Dean had blown it, in Sam's opinion, barely made it through school because he'd cared so much more about stupid things like sports and chasing tail, things Sam didn't understand. He'd just known they kept Dean from spending time with him, making things that much harder because his big brother was too distracted by all the pretty girls to pay attention to him. Sam had just wanted Dean to stop talking about sports and care that he got a good grade on a paper or a project. If it didn't help them fight monsters, though, Dean could care less.

As they got older, it became harder for Sam to differentiate between his anger and frustration at Dean not caring and other, more insidious things. Running away for two weeks just to get away from Dean and his talk about Dad and Hunting was fucking Heaven. Bones and him, that had been a good time. He hadn't known Dean had been worried sick, honestly hadn't cared because for once he didn't have to secretly freak out every time he saw a slip of Dean's skin from his shirt riding up or have to act like he was too absorbed in a book to see Dean getting changed in the same room. It was scientifically normal to be turned on by anything and everything at his age but that hadn't made it any easier to deal with.

He wasn't fixated on Dean, he just noticed him all the time, just got jealous all the time from the littlest things. It didn't matter that he'd had Jess or that he flirted with women, he still felt insanely jealous around Dean and he couldn't stop it. So Dean wanted to see Lisa. It shouldn't have bothered him this much but it did. It so did, more than anything.

Sam wanted Cas back. Those feathers were distracting. Cas was distracting.

The feeling of fingers massaging just in front of his ears was unexpected. Sam switched back to attention, pulled from his thoughts. He opened his mouth to speak…

…and had his words swallowed by Dean's mouth pressing hungrily against his own. Those sensuous lips moved, tongue all but thrusting into his mouth as Dean pressed forward, pushing Sam down, back flat against the bed. Unusual position but not unwanted.

Sam didn't bother thinking, not when he so definitely wanted Dean to keep going. He fisted one hand in Dean's shirt, the other scrabbling to find purchase in Dean's short hair. When that didn't work, he settled on cupping Dean's skull and searching his brother's mouth. What he was looking for, Sam didn't know.

"Sammy," Dean rasped, "Sammy, this is so fucked up-"

"Shuddup," Sam groaned, fumbling his mouth back to Dean's. Talking wasn't on the agenda. "Yer mine." Not the most poetic thing he'd ever uttered but Dean wasn't protesting.

"What are you two doing?"

Both Winchesters' heads whipped up at the newcomer's voice. Dean groaned when he saw who it was. Cas had returned, about ten minutes after Sam actually wanted him. Typical. Sam laid his head back, rubbing his eyes wearily.

"Cas, could you give us a moment?"

"No," Castiel said flatly. "The third Horseman is nearby. We need to seize this oppor-"

"Cas!"

"Yes, Dean?"

"Go."

"But-"

"Go, damnit!"

Castiel actually obeyed, disappearing instantly. Sam didn't even blink and the angel was gone.

"That didn't turn you off?" Dean asked, more of a disbelieving gasp than actual words.

"No," Sam answered honestly. "Should it? I'm not like you, I'm not used to being walked in on."

Dean scowled and smacked Sam on the back of his head. Sam smacked him back, hitting Dean's skull with a satisfying _thunk_.

"Guess not," Dean said, smirking at Sam's tented pants.

Sam just smiled and pulled Dean a little closer. Their lips met, Dean gentle as he pushed into Sam, tongue delving deep.

ØØØ

"Sam!"

"Huh?" Sam asked intelligently. Dean was peering into his face, snapping his fingers.

"Dude, where did you go?" Dean asked.

Sam blinked, realizing the last few minutes had, at best, been a rather vivid daydream.

"Did you hear anything I just said?" Dean asked.

Sam shook his head and shrugged dejectedly. Dean sat down on the bed next to him, looking at him with more than a bit of worry. Sam ached to reach out to him and satisfy his constant need to _touch_ Dean but he held back.

"Did Cas come back?" he asked Dean, casually ignoring his bit of woolgathering. He didn't want to explain what had been so distracting.

"No," Dean said. "Was he here?"

"While you were out," Sam said, the accusal gone from his voice.

They sat like that for a while, just staring at the far wall. Dean pulled out a case of beer from his duffel bag and cracked one open, handing it to Sam, who drank without saying anything. They were how they always were- distracted, minds a million miles away, yet comfortable together. There was a sense of loss, of incompleteness, but neither would say anything because there was nothing they could say to make things right or to make the pain stop.

Sam had lived with the pain so far. He could survive a little longer.


End file.
